


Rome Wasn't Built in a Day

by Makkoska



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Time, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, PWP-ish, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, though a good chuck post not-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22118638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makkoska/pseuds/Makkoska
Summary: They had danced around each other since their days in Rome. Two thousand years and an averted Apocalypse later, Aziraphale decided it was time to finally make a move.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 186





	Rome Wasn't Built in a Day

**Author's Note:**

> I’m late to the party I think, but there’s no harm in saying one more time how much Crowley loves Aziraphale and how much Aziraphale loves Crowley, right? Right. Here we go.

Everything started to change in Rome. Where else? Rome was so different from anything humanity had ever built before. Made sense it would change him too, living amongst mortal men and women, even if he was an angel, who was supposed to stay exactly the way he was created for all eternity.

Clever humans had built nice cities, impressive empires even, millennia earlier. Aziraphale had to admit that Egypt was quite something in its own right. He had spent a couple of pleasant decades in Thebes, admiring the work of architects, the arts, was amazed by the fast-developing knowledge of doctors - human lives were short, but they did make the best of it. The temples were undeniably beautiful, and the locals’ view on gods was quite endearing. Then that nasty business with Moses and the plagues came about. Aziraphale did what he could, helping with careful, small miracles through the frogs, the lice, the death of livestock. He was less careful, frivolous even, as Gabriel put it when it came to the boils, the hail and locusts. He fled under the darkness lasting three days. It was part of the ineffable plan, he knew, there was nothing he could do to stop the death of the firstborn, but he couldn’t possibly stay around and watch, knowing well he wasn’t supposed to do anything against it - and would find himself powerless if he did try to stop what was about to happen. 

He wondered if the demon was nearby, back then. He imagined him frowning, voice rising an octave to two as he questioned,  _ surely not the children, again?  _ The angel wouldn’t have any answers for him, nothing more convincing he had during the flood, so it was lucky they never bumped into each other at that time.

But that was two thousand years ago and Aziraphale could almost pretend it never happened. Rome had a fair share of tragedies for sure, it was just recovering from the great fire from a few years ago. He also received the information from Upstairs he shouldn’t plan any visit to Pompei anytime soon or  _ ever again _ . He never received more insight than that, no matter how he tried to pry. Whatever was meant to happen to that lovely little town was apparently part of the plan, and nobody cared about his passionate speech about masterful mosaics, the lush gardens, the wine, the food, the baths, and all those locals just minding their own business.

“It all sounds very decadent to me,” Gabriel had said with a pointed look at Sandalphon. Aziraphale’s insides twisted at that. He had seen that look before, it was one usually followed by some tragedy shaking a considerable part of mankind. Aziraphale wouldn’t be offered any explanations other than it being part of the Plan and would receive reprimands for even asking questions.

Rome though… it was decadent for sure, but decadent was only one of the many things it was. It was a city of extremes, something he’d never seen before, and he couldn’t stop being impressed with the cleverness of humanity. The theatres. The baths. The roads. The aqueducts. The food and drink. Oh Heavens,  _ the food and drink. _

“You are ignoring the nasty bits,” Crowley pointed it out to him one night when he really got into listing everything he found utterly fascinating in the city. They were seeing each other a lot more often recently. Weekly, sometimes daily. It was unavoidable, wasn’t it? All roads led to Rome, after all, and both of them ended up spending considerable time in the city. He  _ tempted  _ the demon to try out oysters without thinking it through because it seemed like a friendly thing to do, and he didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t be friendly. They were supposed to be sworn enemies, but he wasn’t comfortable with animosity. Sharing a drink and some treats was supposed to be a one-off thing, but somehow it led to frequent nights out together in taverns. Crowley didn’t seem particularly fond of the food, but he was just as appreciating of sweet, Greek wine as the angel was, and that was common ground. If anyone asked, he was keeping a close eye on his adversary. 

“…’M not ignoring the nasty bits,” he denied. He didn’t sound very convincing - he wasn’t a good liar. His voice wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to sound, but he could blame it on the alcohol. He’d have been hard-pressed to tell how many jugs they had emptied already. Ceretanum from Hispania this time. They didn’t water it up as the Greeks always did, and it was showing. “I’m all  _ too  _ aware of the nasty bits,” he tried and failed to repress a hiccup. “Rome’s still lovely,” he mumbled. “It’s the most chivi…civilized place on the  _ planet.” _

“What about the slavery?” Crowley made a wide gesture. His long arms didn’t seem to be properly under his control. He didn’t let go of his cup, sloshing wine everywhere. Aziraphale made a face at the red stain that started to spread on the white front of his toga, but before he could complain, the demon miracled it away. “What about… what about the poverty? What the militia is doing in the provinces? What can you say for the… gladiators, and the orgies and well,  _ Nero?” _

His voice was too loud, he was earning them many curious glances. Aziraphale was at his senses enough to perform his own miracle, making all the other guests of the tavern deeply uninterested in what they were hearing. They didn’t need any visit from the Praetorian Guards, asking silly questions about their view on the emperor.

Crowley’s questions were more than enough.

Of course, he was a demon, his job was to voice queries that raised doubts, even if the angel tended to forget this on their frequent nights out. Crowley had this habit of asking questions Aziraphale never dared to say out loud. Hardly dared to think about them in the safety of his own mind. As if he was asking those questions in Aziraphale’s stead as well. The angel knew he didn’t have very convincing answers, but he still tried his best. Reasoning would have been easier when sober, but he wasn’t up to the bother getting the alcohol out of his system always was, not yet.

“It’s just… you know how humans like to overdo things! It’s their way of … searching for the right way, you know? They are looking for love, but… they slip…”

“And the next thing you know, they are writhing in an orgy,” Crowley said wryly.

“Well, yes, sort of,” he nodded, ignoring his drinking companion’s sarcastic snort. “It’s the age of… going to the extreme, I guess. They want to eat really well, but rather they bolt down food until they throw it up. They want to find love, but they end in an orgy as you said. They don’t realize they would need to savour the pleasures and not be so… greedy about the whole thing.”

“Tell me, angel,” Crowley was looking at him above his funny little shades. He seemed amused and a bit mischievous. Aziraphale, very-very quietly and only to himself could admit he liked that look. “Have you ever been to an orgy?”

“Heavens, no,” he denied vehemently, though he knew the demon was only teasing. “That would be very unseemly,” he wrinkled his nose and took another sip of the wine as if wanting to wash away an unpleasant taste. “That’s really not my thing,” he added, though he immediately regretted not keeping his mouth shut. The demon sat up straighter, a smile on his lips that said he just received manna from Heaven. In case manna was material he could mercilessly tease the angel with. In blind panic of what he might say next, Aziraphale quickly blurted out the first thing on his mind.

“I’m sure  _ you've  _ been to plenty of them, haven’t you, dear boy?”

Crowley slouched back in his chair, trying to look nonchalant and relaxed. He wasn’t very convincing at it.

“I’m a  _ demon.  _ It’s practically in my job description. Temptations, orgies, broken hearts…”

“You haven’t,” Aziraphale stated, smiling despite himself. Though the other  _ was  _ a demon, he wasn’t a bad person at all. This was something he suspected for centuries – to be honest, something he  _ sensed  _ the first time they had met. In these years in Rome that suspicion solidified into knowledge, though he needed the aid of alcohol to acknowledge it. He said it to Crowley once too. He said  _ you are a good person, my dear friend.  _ He was shocked by his own words, by his own sincerity in how much he meant them. Not just the  _ good person _ bit, but also the  _ dear  _ and the  _ friend  _ part. The demon tried to punch him for it, but absolutely wasted as they were, he slipped, grabbing onto the tunic of the angel. They ended up tumbling onto the cobbled street, laughing very drunkenly. None of them mentioned the incident again.

“I haven’t,” Crowley said with a sigh, while the angel struggled to remember what they were talking about. Right, orgies. “Not really my thing.”

“They wouldn’t be, I guess,” Aziraphale poured them another drink, not quite looking into the demon’s face.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Crowley demanded.

“I find you too, hmm, dignified for them.”

“Dignified?”

“Yes. You are a very dignified person,” he stated solemnly, hoping it was an adjective he was allowed to use.

Apparently it was, as Crowley only looked vaguely flustered, but not angry. He fiddled with the clasp of his black toga, muttering something unintelligible under his nose. Aziraphale used the time to allow his smile to blossom as warmth filled his heart. He got it under control, mostly at least, by the time the demon looked at him again.

“To Rome,” he raised his cup.

“To Rome,” Crowley repeated, smirking at him in a way that felt suspiciously like a smile as well.

So yes, Rome was where everything changed. Time went by and the glory of the Empire first dimmed, then shattered apart completely. But the change had already happened.

It was the first time they started to meet deliberately and casually. Prior to that, they just happened to be at the same place now and then, usually when something very meaningful happened. In Rome, they didn’t need more of an excuse than trying out a new kind of beer imported from Pannonia, or the most popular play from Seneca on show in the Theatre, which Crowley didn’t fail to sarcastically comment all the way through.

For a couple of years, none of them were assigned anywhere specifically. There were more than enough souls to tempt and save in the city. There was even more entertainment to make both of them forget work for a while too. Aziraphale felt guilty about it, of course, but not guilty enough to say no to them.

The centuries after Rome were quite bleak and boring. He travelled a lot, which he didn’t particularly enjoy. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but Rome used to feel like home. He was also rather lonely, to the point when a glimpse of red hair had his heart speeding up and battering against his chest in a very disturbing way. It was a false alarm in most cases, leaving him with a bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth. He got used to Crowley’s company and he was missing him terribly.

Whenever he wasn’t directly sent to some horrible place in the middle of nowhere with no civilized way to dine, drink and enjoy some entertainment, he visited larger cities. Paris, Constantinople, Venice – they were all nice, in their own way, and offered the comforts he was looking for, but they missed something. Or someone, if he wanted to be honest with himself, which wasn’t something he particularly fancied to be.

It wasn’t until the end of the 1500s, after taking up residence in London, that he started to feel at home again. If Crowley also happened to be there, and they happened to start to visit theatres once more or go out for a bite and a beer together, well, that was almost nothing more than mere coincidence. Aziraphale was rather an expert in ignoring certain things, like questions which could cause him trouble, doubts if voiced would certainly cause him trouble. Then there was the matter with Crowley, and Aziraphale really had to outdo himself on how ignorant he could be. One could say he way just lying to himself.

The demon suggested the  _ Arrangement  _ again, and this time Aziraphale agreed. It meant more secret meetings with his adversary and he just couldn’t refuse.

Some days he wondered if he was, if the both of them were, turning a bit –  _ human.  _ They had spent an awful lot of time in these corporations, after all. It wouldn’t be all too surprising.

They were sharing a drink -again- after seeing one of Master Shakespeare’s play. Aziraphale enjoyed them immensely, and though Crowley had yet to say anything redeeming on them, he kept accompanying him. He probably just enjoyed muttering his sarcastic comments throughout them, and of course his small victories when he made Aziraphale smile in the middle of a heart-wrenching tragedy.

“How did he put it?  _ And therefore since I cannot prove a lover / To entertain these fair well-spoken days / I am determined to prove a villain / And hate the idle pleasures of these days _ … Meh…” he made a face, sloshing the wine around in his glass as he made a wide gesture. “What utter bullshit. As if one would just  _ choose  _ to be the baddie and not just, well – realize he’d become one after it happened. One doesn’t wake up on a Thursday and  _ decide  _ something like that. There's a whole bunch of unfortunate circumstances which will drag you down. Not to mention the wrong circle of friends.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile softly. Crowley had an excellent memory, and despite his cynical criticism on the dramas the angel took him to, he could cite them very accurately. He was talking about himself though, and his Fall, something he’d only ever done when properly, utterly drunk, and could pretend not to be in full charge of his own words. Aziraphale’s smile vanished, and he reached out to clasp his friend’s hand comfortingly. His skin was smooth and cold under his touch, and for a long moment they both stared at their hands, as if they were separate things from them, with minds of their own. The angel cleared his throat and withdrew quickly. “Maybe it’s like that, for humans,” his voice was a bit too high and shrill. He cleared his throat again. “I mean, that’s the point of a free will, isn’t it? You get to  _ choose.” _

“I’m telling you, it doesn’t work like that,” Crowley sounded appropriately sarcastic, but he was cradling his hand close to his chest, stroking a thumb over and over the spot where Aziraphale touched him. The angel looked away. 

He left London shortly after that night, refusing to acknowledge he was leaving in a rush because of anything else but work. Anyhow, London remained their meeting point from then on. 

Sure, there were weeks, months even in between seeing each other, followed by intense periods of catching up  _ daily,  _ until it became too much, and one of them claimed to have to go away on an assignment. It continued like that until the  _ Holy Water Incident  _ and the break that came after was desolate and barren like the desert that surrounded Eden.

Maybe it wasn’t a wonder that Aziraphale slipped then, forgetting about ignorance and denial, and let love wash over him when Crowley barged into the church to save him and  _ his books _ . He knew how much they meant to the angel, he didn’t forget it in the century they hadn’t spoken to each other, he  _ cared  _ enough to keep them protected from the bomb’s explosion with a demonic intervention. 

_ Oh shut up,  _ he grumbled when Aziraphale tried to say his thanks and the Almighty spare him, he loved Crowley, he was  _ in love  _ with Crowley. Now that he suddenly admitted it to himself, he couldn’t help but making it worse by realizing he had been that way for a while. Probably since Rome.  _ At the very least,  _ since Rome.

He didn’t sleep, not really, only drowsed in his armchair sometimes. But he did own a bed because it seemed proper to furniture his flat the human way when he brought it. Very uncharacteristically, he slumped down on it that night, face down. The mattress was pressing his nose to the side uncomfortably, so after a moment, he grabbed a pillow and released a long, suffering groan into it, burying his face in the soft, though slightly dusty material. He couldn’t breathe like this, lucky that he didn’t really need to.

He had many, _ too many _ memories about Crowley and they all choose that blessed moment to come and haunt him. Crowley smirking at him, expression softening, turning into a fond smile. Did he ever look at anyone else like that? Aziraphale suspected it was reserved only for him. Crowley sprawled on his chair, long limbs occupying an absurd amount of space, his arm accidentally brushing the angel’s. Sometimes touching him deliberately as well, softly, carefully, a friendly pat on his back, a handshake, reaching up to straighten Aziraphale’s collar if they left a pub intoxicated, his cool fingers brushing against his neck for a moment longer than it was strictly necessary. 

He had way too many memories of getting drunk together. Aziraphale usually was much more at his senses than he acted - but he didn’t feel guilty about that, not too much anyway, as he suspected Crowley did the same. It was just easier to smile at each other, casually touch each other, lean in too close in a whisper if they both pretended they weren’t quite responsible for their actions. 

Then he had many cherished memories of Crowley’s fashion sense throughout the ages. He always was frivolous, just a tad scandalous in his way of dressing. A  _ black toga  _ in Rome, really. And those French-style heels he strutted around at the time of the Renaissance, higher than the regulated two inches. It had tested Aziraphale’s willpower to the extreme, the way he swayed his hips in them, the way his slim legs showed, clad in nothing but those ridiculous thighs…

Centuries later he still got hard from just thinking about them. God, if She had anything to do with this, had a very cruel sense of humor. 

It seemed like a logical choice to inhabit a body that was human in every aspect all those millennia ago. One couldn’t enjoy a hot water spa without having an obvious genitalia if humans were around, after all. Clothes designed for men tended to have space left for the  _ dangly  _ bits too. He wasn’t at ease to choose a woman’s outfit like  _ someone  _ he knew. 

So he stayed with the penis he materialized shortly after leaving Eden. He usually didn’t spare it more than a passing thought. However, at the moment, it was a menace. All those thoughts about Crowley, in a toga, in thighs, in a skirt, in the well-pressed pants he wore coming to his rescue today were making their effects show. He could have willed his erection away - only the demon was too much inside his mind, too much under his skin. After not seeing him for a century, he rushed in to save him, although the Holy Ground burned him, although Aziraphale talked to him so cruelly the last time they’d met. He should have stayed longer, should have thanked him better, even if Crowley told him to shut up about it. He should have… should have grabbed his face, took off his shades to look into those serpent eyes and should have said,  _ Thank you, Crowley, this means a lot to me.  _ Then he should have kissed him, and the demon would have kissed back, teeth and tongue and fire, pulling him close, those long arms and legs all around him.

He was humping the bed now, and he’d be damned, but it was one of those days he just wanted to give in. He sneaked a hand under himself, unzipping his pants, reaching inside, pulling his cock out. He was hard and leaking already, well good, this wouldn’t take long. He thrust into his grip, eyes shut tight.

_ You even saved my books,  _ his imaginary, braver self was saying to an imaginary, very naked and aroused Crowley.  _ Let me show you how grateful I am.  _ The demon hissed, threw his head back in pleasure, showing off that long, graceful neck. Aziraphale pictured himself sliding down to take him in his mouth. His eyes would be vulnerable and affectionate. He’d say something silly, like  _ Angel, you don’t have to,  _ and Aziraphale would say, raising his head for a moment  _ But I want to, I want you more than anything else in this world, want you to be mine, want you to be happy.  _

Then he’d suck Crowley off, just like that, as if he knew what he was doing. The demon would try to hold still, but he wouldn’t be able to, not completely, and he’d thrust into his mouth, crying out as he reached his climax. Aziraphale would revel in the glory of it, of causing such pleasure to the creature he held the dearest. Crowley would pull him up, kiss him and say,  _ I love you, Angel… _

Aziraphale came, all over his fingers, onto his dusty bed cover. He rolled over to his back, away from the wet spot. He threw an arm over his eyes, not bothering to clean up the mess just then, not even bothered by how undignified and ridiculous he must look in his rumpled, messy clothes, with his soft dick still hanging out. Who was there to see him? In the place of hot arousal, cold dread took over his whole being.

The problem wasn’t that he loved Crowley, that he was in love with Crowley or that he lusted after Crowley. He could keep it to himself, cherish tender moments, weave his silly fantasies and have a wank over them now and then. Messy ones while still being clothed, and  _ proper  _ ones, with him in the bath, reading some of his saucier literature. He had a collection just for that purpose. Most of them didn’t hold more than sentimental value, but books were books, so he still miracled their pages to be resistant to water, soap and any other fluid that may splatter on them.

Sometimes he read his favourite parts over and over again, pretending it was about the two of them. It was safe, it didn’t cause anyone any harm, as long as nobody knew about it. 

The problem wasn’t his feelings. What frightened him was the certain knowledge that Crowley loved him back. He was worse hiding it than Aziraphale was. He always slipped, he did silly, adorable things, like he did today with the books. He asked for reassurance,  _ Anthony? You don’t like it?  _ It terrified the angel. Demons weren’t supposed to love anyone or anything, but Crowley did many things a demon wasn’t supposed to be doing. 

They couldn’t afford this, they were already playing a very dangerous game with the Arrangement, with their frequent meetings. A blind man could see they were on friendly terms.  _ Fraternising,  _ one of his less than fortunate choice of words.  _ Fraternising _ would have been bad enough, but it wasn’t just that. Anyone who cared to take a look would see. Heaven wasn’t forgiving and God only knew what Hell would do to Crowley if they admitted their feelings. There would be no hiding then.

Fear ruled him for the upcoming decades. If Crowley had ever said he loved him, there was no way he could deny his own feelings. He feared, he longed, he lied to everyone, including himself. The Apocalypse was upon them, the forces of Heaven and Hell were watching them more closely than ever. He pushed Crowley away, he denied they ever had a bond,  _ he had to.  _ He had to remain strong and keep denying because Crowley was reaching out to him in desperation.  _ Go off together? Listen to yourself.  _

Then he just couldn’t do it anymore. It felt liberating, finally standing up for what he believed was right. It felt the best thing ever, to choose Crowley’s side, their side. Because they had a side, no matter what he’d said before. 

They won, against all odds. Aziraphale felt quite blank, travelling back to London on the bus.  _ Going to spend the night at Crowley’s place,  _ a little voice in his mind whispered. He couldn’t feel giddy about it, he was too paralysed. They stood up against their sides, and they got away with it. For now. But who was to say when Heaven would come to demand justice? When Hell dragged them away for revenge?

Once inside, Crowley shut the door, leaning against it. He looked rather backed into a corner, with Aziraphale standing just out of arm's reach. Moments ticked by in silence, and they did nothing, just staring at each other.

“Well,” the angel broke the silence at last, though he didn’t take his eyes off the other. “This went rather better than I would have thought.”

“Indeed,” Crowley nodded, visibly forcing his body to relax, putting all his weight on one leg, hip jutting out, head lolling to the side a bit. These tight clothes he started to wear this last decade or so were probably Aziraphale’s favourite of all times. The cut of his shirt showed his collarbone and his trousers were just  _ devilish. _ The thought was so unrelated to anything they had been doing, the angel couldn’t help but smile. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back, just need to, hmm, clean up a puddle,” Crowley looked tired, he was dishevelled, there were smudges of cinder on his skin and he smelled like burnt leather and overheated metal. He was the most beautiful create Aziraphale had ever seen. He pushed himself away from the door, but as the angel didn’t step back to let him go, they ended up standing very close.

“A puddle?” his voice was annoyingly quiver-y. 

“It’s a long story,” Crowley breathed. He looked ready to bolt.

“You’ll tell me about it later,” it came out more of a statement than a question. Quickly, afraid his nerves would get the better out of him, he stood on his tiptoes and pressed his mouth against the demon’s. Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat, not resembling articulated speech the slightest, that drew out even when Aziraphale dropped back on his heels. He looked absolutely gobsmacked. “I believe these are in the way,” the angel whispered softly, trying not to be discouraged, as he reached up to remove the dark glasses and tucked them away into his pocket. 

He took Crowley’s face in both hands, and leaned in again. The demon met him halfway this time, and they were kissing, and it was messy and hungry and more than a tad desperate. Crowley’s long fingers grasped the front of his coat, and he made a choked little sound that simultaneously melted Aziraphale’s heart and stiffened his cock. He stepped back with reluctance. 

“Whaaa...Why… You..? Angel.” Crowley’s brain seemed to struggle with catching up, but Aziraphale still understood what he meant.

“We will need to talk about this,” he agreed, trying to radiate a sort of collected calmness, which he didn’t feel at all. “But that can wait, dear boy, just as your, erm, puddle, until we figure out how can we stay alive.”

“Alive,” Crowley repeated as if that was an option he didn’t consider before.

“There’s this piece of prophecy from dear Agnes, which I quite believe can help us in that. We just need to figure it out.” 

The Almighty decided to take pity on them, or maybe it was just blind luck, but they did figure it out. Back in their own bodies, eating at the Ritz felt like a date they have agreed way too long ago.

“Do you want to come to my place and continue celebrating?” Crowley asked, playing cool and casual, and if he was attempting to tempt or seduce him, Heavens, he was doing a spectacular job out of it. “I have an excellent Armand de Brignac on ice. Well, it better be excellent, considering how much it cost.”

_ You go too fast for me, Crowley,  _ he had told him decades ago, and he waited, didn’t he? He might be a demon, but he was the best, the nicest being Aziraphale had ever known. He suddenly felt hot and rattled, but he was determined not to get cold feet. They deserved this. Each other. Finally, after such a long time. 

Back in the flat, Aziraphale exhaled a long, shaky breath as Crowley wandered off to grab glasses for them. He was nervous but determined.

Right.  _ What are you waiting for,  _ he told himself.  _ Silly old angel. _ Crowley was taking an awfully long time with the glasses. He had to be reasonable about this. He took off his overcoat and laid it down on a rather throne-like chair, effectively taking up the only place to sit in the whole room. Next, he undid his bowtie.  _ You see, nothing difficult about this.  _ He was unbuttoning his vest when Crowley came back, two tall glasses in one hand, a bottle of champagne in the other. 

“It’s a rose, but I trust that will be not a…” he came to a sudden halt and gaped at him. Aziraphale smiled at him in a way he very well knew belied his nerves.

“Not at all, my dear, the rose is quite delightful,” he told him softly. He finished on his buttons, so he took his vest off too, with hands slightly shaking under Crowley’s unblinking stare. He laid it atop his coat and bowtie, then started on his cuffs. 

“What in  _ Hell  _ are you doing,” the demon croaked. He did glide closer though, walking in a funny way, even for him, as if he wasn’t in total order of his body, and it just moved without him willing it to do so.

“Oh, I rather thought, when you said, continue celebrating, you meant...but of course I promised we will talk about this, how awfully rude of me…” he felt like a total fool, standing there with his cuffs and top two buttons of his shirt already undone. He had no idea what the right protocol was in such cases. Should he just quickly button up again? Should he grab his clothes and leave? 

He couldn’t tell what Crowley was thinking, but his serpent eyes burned into him even through his dark glasses. He poured one of the glasses full of absurdly expensive champagne and thrust it back, obviously not caring about the taste. Aziraphale wished he’d offered him one as well, at least he could occupy his hands with something, but he set the bottle and glasses down on the marble table.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” his voice was raspy, and Aziraphale didn’t think it was because of the fizziness of the drink. He sounded sexy and aroused. Well. He sounded as Aziraphale always imagined him sounding if he was aroused. So maybe he was. 

“Oh,” he said with no eloquence and continued to unbutton his shirt. “This does feel a little one-sided,” he confessed quietly.

“You have a lot more layers than I do,” Crowley pointed out, but he did shrug out of his jacket, and pulled his shirt over his head. He piled them on the floor. His glasses followed. His pupils were dilated, the amber iris barely visible. Aziraphale undressed that body earlier that day, getting ready to submerge it in Holy Water, but this was quite different. Fearing for their existence did take away the pleasantness.

This time the sight made his mouth go dry and his heart sped up. He sent a longing look at the Armand de Brignac but didn’t stop for a drink. Crowley mirrored his movements, pulling off his own undershirt when Aziraphale did the same, toed off his boots, when the angel unlaced and stepped out of his shoes, unbuttoned those devilishly tight jeans when Aziraphale loosened his belt.

“Wait, wait,” he said suddenly, “are we really doing this? Angel? What are we doing? Why now?”

“I thought it was rather obvious what we were doing, my dear,” he said softly. “As for why now - because we finally can. Don’t you agree that we had waited more than enough?”

“Six thousand years, Angel,” Crowley’s voice was unnecessarily loud. He sounded panicked. He was incredibly tempting, standing there half-bare with his lean, strong arms, that thin waist enclothed in the tightest jeans humanity ever designed,  _ or was it a demonic design,  _ Aziraphale could never be sure. There was coarse hair on his chest and a dark trail lead down from below his navel into his trousers... He was aroused, that much was obvious with his jeans unbuttoned, and his erection tenting the dark material of his underwear. “Six thousand years,” he repeated, “of hanging around each other and  _ now  _ you want to get naked?” 

“I wanted to get naked with you, my dear, for quite a while now,” he shrugged out of his own pants, toeing off his socks after a moment of hesitation. Books he read on the matter suggested it was kind of ridiculous to leave them on during sex. He wished Crowley’s flat had a carpet or two, as his feet were now cold. 

“Since when?” Crowley’s eyes were glued to the front of his underwear. Aziraphale felt silly, standing there in his briefs, his erection must have been so apparent in them. He quite possibly had a wet spot where the tip was straining the white fabric. 

“Since Rome, I guess.”

“Rome?  _ Rome  _ as in the empire two thousand years ago?” he asked incredulously. When Aziraphale nodded, he threw his arms up in frustration. “And you  _ never said anything?” _

“Well, it would have been way too dangerous. Although I thought it was quite obvious.”

“You know what?” Crowley was very close to yelling now, “It wasn’t! It wasn’t for me. I’m a dumb, old demon, and you have to spell out these things to me! Because -surprise -  _ I can’t read your mind!” _

Aziraphale blinked. He had the nagging suspicion he left out an important step or two here, before deciding to undress in the middle of Crowley’s barren room.

“My dear, I really want to make love to you. If you agree, of course. I really want to do it right now, and then many times in the future, until you get bored of me. Or in the hopeful event of that never happening, continue it for an eternity. Or course, if you feel this is not quite the right time yet, we are going to wait.” He thought for a moment, hoping he was straightforward enough this time. “Because I’m in love with you,” he added, realizing it was also important, and maybe it also hadn’t been obvious to Crowley, though he couldn’t fathom how that would be possible. 

The demon uttered a low, unarticulated cry, that conveyed a whole bunch of emotions, frustration, longing, lust and yes, love, before he lunged. He tackled Aziraphale down onto the hard, cold ground of his apartment. It was altogether rather uncomfortable - really, concrete flooring, whoever heard of such a thing, but before he could complain, Crowley snapped his fingers, summoning a warm, plush carpet under his body and a comfy pillow under his head. Aziraphale smiled at him.

“I was just about to suggest a bed.”

“I’m not risking a break so you can come back to your senses,” he growled, and he sounded more of a demon than he ever did before. It sent a very pleasant shiver down Aziraphale’s spine. “Look at you, all naked and willing on my floor, when you didn’t do anything but pushing me away for so long.”

“I’m very regretful about that, my dear,” Aziraphale said sincerely. Crowley was all over him, touching, finally touching, elegant fingers caressing his chest, his neck. He shivered but pressed on. “I was trying to protect both of us, but looking back I do wish I was braver. I’m afraid I hurt you, and I never wanted that.”

“Forget it, Angel. You are here now,” he laid a gentle kiss on his mouth, just the barest touch of lips against lips.

“I’m not completely naked yet, though.”

“Oh?”

“You said  _ all naked and willing on your floor,  _ but I’m not actually completely naked yet,” he thrust his hips up against Crowley’s denim-clad thighs, proving his point. The demon uttered a shaky laugh and did as he was suggested. 

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of Aziraphale’s underwear and dragged it off. Then he just stared at his erection, and the angel was afraid he’d come just from the intensity of that gaze. He pushed himself up on his elbows, wanting to point out how the demon got quite behind in undressing, when Crowley sprung into action, not unlike a snake laying motionless before lunging on his prey. Steadying his erection with one hand, he leaned down and took the head of his prick into his mouth, swallowing it down quite a few inches. Then he sucked.

“ _ God _ ,” Aziraphale breathed, head falling back on the pillow, although he definitely didn’t want to draw that kind of attention onto himself. Crowley just hummed, working his way down on his shaft. Aziraphale’s fingers tried to get a hold on the rug, on Crowley’s bony shoulder, in his hair. At that, the demon gasped, letting his prick sprung free from his mouth. He pushed his forehead against the angel’s thigh and hip. He was breathing very heavily. He made a weak attempt of trying to get rid of his jeans, but there was a very good reason no trousers that tight should be worn, as he only succeeded in pushing them down lower on his sinuous hips. “Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked, but he just got some breathless panting as an answer. He did recover in a moment or two, luckily. He kissed the sensitive skin where Aziraphale’s legs met his groin and took him in his mouth again.

He sneaked a hand down to grab his own erection through the layers of clothes he failed to get rid of, looking quite desperate for friction. Aziraphale assumed that meant the hand in his hair was fine. 

It was gloriously fast and messy from there. Aziraphale couldn’t stop his hips making small, shallow thrusts into that wonderful mouth, caressing, petting Crowley’s hair. He seemed to really like it, at least he made happy, humming noises. The vibrations of them felt downright  _ divine.  _ Steadying himself with a hand on Aziraphale’s thigh, the other on his waist, Crowley swallowed his prick down till the root without any obvious difficulty. He bobbed up, gave the tip a long lick before he went down on him again. Whether that was practice, some small demonic miracle or just a snake thing, Aziraphale was far too gone to think about it. 

His pleasure spiralled up, up, up. He was uttering soft little whispers, like  _ love, dear, right there _ and _ oh my, oh my, I’m coming, I’m COMING,  _ which he would have found terribly embarrassing in any other situation, but right then he couldn’t care less. 

Crowley doubled his efforts at that ridiculous announcement, if that was even possible, and Aziraphale’s world was exploding as he reached his peak and toppled over. His body never felt this elevated and his soul never more at peace. Crowley sucked him off, till he had nothing more to give, and then gave a little whimper, a  _ whimper!  _ when he let his cock pop free from his mouth. As if he was unhappy there wasn’t more. Aziraphale’s prick gave a valiant jerk at that, but he was really truly and utterly spent. 

Crowley’s hand was in his pants again, working quite desperately, but there really wasn’t enough or rather  _ any  _ space in them, was there? Aziraphale forced his body to function enough to pull him up from where he was crouching between his legs. His love gave a little protesting moan.

“Please,” Aziraphale said, kissing him and that got Crowley quite pliant, letting himself be gently pushed onto his back. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he cared about tasting his own come on the other’s lips, but it wasn’t so bad to stop him kissing him again.

With the help of a minor miracle, he helped him get rid of those pants finally, dragging the undergarments down with them as well. Crowley’s prick was red and shiny. It looked painfully erect, curving up against his flat stomach. The hair surrounding it was curvey and almost completely black, with just a hint of copper.

“You are beautiful,” he breathed.

“Stop saying such things to my cock,” Crowley sounded quite out of breath.

“I wasn’t talking about… well, I wasn’t  _ just  _ talking about your…”

“Shut up and kiss me again,” the demon commanded, and he obliged. Aziraphale wanted to return the favour, he did fantasise more times about sucking Crowley off then he could count, but his friend, his  _ lover  _ was holding onto him tightly and didn’t seem inclined to let him go.

He settled on getting a hand down between their bodies, to grab his cock. Crowley hissed, sounding very snake-like, then he swore, sounding a lot human. Or rather, he sounded like a very aroused and filthy mouthed demon. Aziraphale kissed those curses away. 

Crowley thrust up into his grip, the wet head of his prick sliding against the angel’s stomach. He kissed him savagely, more teeth than tongue, he grabbed and yanked Aziraphale’s hair as his whole body arched up in a bow as he came, making quite a mess on both of their stomachs. 

“Angel, Angel, Angel,” he chanted. Aziraphale held him through it, kissing his jaw, his temple, his nose, kissing him everywhere.

“I’m here my dear, my love,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

He watched as Crowley laid back, chest heaving. He caressed his hair until his breathing slowed down. 

“I love you,” he said, as it was a point he really wanted to drive through.

Crowley opened his eyes to a crack and glared at him.

“So you said.”

“I really do.”

“Hmm,” he closed his eyes, opened them to a crack again and said, “I love you, too.”

“I know,” Aziraphale beamed, “But it’s awfully nice to hear.”

“You are impossible,”

“So you keep telling me,” he kissed the junction of his neck, watching that prominent Adam’s apple work as he swallowed. “But you love me anyway.”

Crowley snorted, most of the tension leaving his body finally. Not waiting for the other shoe to drop any more, Aziraphale guessed. 

“There is no other shoe,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he snapped his fingers, materializing a blanket out from thin air to throw over them. 

Crowley made the mess on his stomach disappear with a disapproving glance. That was almost a pity. Aziraphale rather looked forward washing each other down. There were a few splatters of drying white semen on Crowley’s chin - his own doing, he thought and he felt kind of proud, rather than embarrassed about it. He decided to lick them off. 

The demon made a choked off sound in the back of his throat, but didn’t protest Aziraphale’s ministrations. 

“You are one perverted angel,” he told him hoarsely. “How do you come up with such things?”

“I read a lot,” Aziraphale said honestly.

Crowley did something he’d only ever done when caught surprised - he blinked.

“Don’t tell me you own pornography, Angel.”

“I’d rather call them erotic literature.”

Those amber snake eyes were intent on his face. Feeling a tad embarrassed, he laid down on their conjured quasi-bed, not meeting them.

“You are quite something,” Crowley sounded fond. He cuddled closer. He was all hard angles, bone, sinew, lean muscle against Aziraphale’s softness. It felt nice. “So, what happens now?” 

“I rather hope our respective sides will allow us some breathing space, my dear. We did prove to be immune to Hellfire and Holy Water… who’d dare to cross us, really? We, of course, have to prepare, but surely we are allowed some time on our own now.”

“Hmm, yes, but what I meant was… what happens to us? Like,  _ us,”  _ Aziraphale frowned hearing the uncertainty in his voice. 

“That depends on what you want as well, of course,” he said carefully, “but I rather hope we will continue to be friends. Best friends. With a lot more kissing and hugging. And sex. Body contact, in general. So maybe not friends, per se, more like partners. Lovers.”

Crowley huffed a small laugh.

“You made it sound simple.”

“It is simple, I believe. Even humans manage it, after all. We have all this time on our hands now. There’s so much we can do. So much we can try. I’m not just talking about sex,” he added hastily. “Though I’m talking about that too,” he admitted after a moment of self-reflection.

Crowley looked at him, his expression unguarded. He looked baffled as if he didn’t quite believe this was happening. Aziraphale smiled at him, trying to convey without words that Really, Everything Was All Right, Perfect Even. 

“Yes,” he said after a while, laying back, snuggling close again. “Maybe it is simple.”

After a moment of hesitation, he threw his arm over Aziraphale’s chest, pulling him close, hiding his face in the crook of the angel’s neck.

It took them quite some time, didn’t it? All those centuries, those thousands of years of yearning, thinking it was a longing never to be fulfilled. All those fears that kept him in check. All that denial. All that dancing around each other. From the days in Rome, drinking rich wine, eating oysters, thinking that those small familiarities were already way too dangerous, that he could never allow himself to feel more. Or if he felt more, he could never, ever act on them.

How ridiculous he had been, not seeing they were fated to be together. That whatever they were to do, it would lead down to them snuggling close on the floor in Crowley’s horrible apartment. Laying with Crowley in his arms was the most perfect thing ever. Now that he had it, he knew he’d defy Heaven over and over again, just to keep it. 

Aziraphale smiled, and kissed the top of Crowley’s head, burying his nose in that lovely copper hair, inhaling his scent.

He so loved happy endings.

**FIN**

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
